


Pure American Brother

by Kaetlynn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol, Angst, Awkward Kissing, Body Dysphoria, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational drug reference, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaetlynn/pseuds/Kaetlynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All that time spent looking for Bucky, and now he's waiting at Steve's front door. The whole situation is so anticlimactic, more so than Steve could ever imagine. Angst and feels are interwoven with the banal in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story a while back, and I had posted it on ff.net. I'm giving it a redo, and going in a different direction with it than before, though. Standard disclaimer of "I don't own Bucky/Steve/Marvel/the MCU" and I'm not making any money off of this story. I'm only writing this to get these annoying headcanons out of my brain. Quotes at the beginning of chapter from Bruce Springsteen's "Lost in the Flood".  
> Any and all feedback is welcome!

_A ragamuffin gunner is returning home…_

_…like a hungry runaway_.

 

The Soldier didn’t know who James Buchanan Barnes was.

The Soldier didn’t even know who Steve Rogers was, really. He knew he couldn't trust what his handlers and Pierce had told him. Everything he saw inside the museum made him feel that Steve Rogers was Important to Him, except he couldn't figure out why.

He thought that the worst part about how he was now was the way he felt fractured, as if all the parts of his brain had been compartmentalized and jumbled. Since that day on the helicarrier, he was seeing images in his mind. Dreams? Memories? The Soldier didn’t know. The images would be prompted by the smallest, most insignificant thing. That afternoon, outside the museum, there had been two boys running carefree in the sun. They were laughing, and had ice cream cones in hand. The Soldier had been sitting on a bench, hat pulled down over his forehead, when he suddenly felt like all the oxygen drained from his lungs.

_Front stoop of a tenement building in a big city. Hot summer day. Baseball game on the radio, the announcer’s voice drifting out from an open window. The Dodgers._

_New York City?_

_Two boys. Big for their age. Mean. Hulking over a small, frail boy seated on the steps, ice cream cone in his tiny hands. Vanilla droplets melting over his bony wrists and onto the hot pavement._

_The Soldier could almost hear the droplets sizzle as they hit the ground._

_Sadistic laughter. The liquid splatter of a scoop of melting vanilla hitting the sidewalk, then the hurried rush of the neighborhood bullies as they ran off for their next victim._

_The boy’s crestfallen face, tears splashing off his jutting cheekbones._

_Another neighborhood boy, crossing the street. Ice cream cone in his hand. A warm, shy smile on his face. Outstretched arm, cone precariously perched between fingers._

_“I’m James. You don’t have to call me that, though, everybody else calls me Bucky.”_

_“I’m Steve.”_

_“Okay, Stevie. It’s strawberry, eat it before it melts, okay?”_

Bucky. The same name Rogers insisted on calling him. The same name on the exhibit in the museum. The name still held no personal meaning for him, except now he had a frame of reference: an image, a dream sequence, a memory belonging to someone else.

This Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were childhood friends. Giving ice cream to someone who just had theirs tossed to the street by bullies was something that a friend would do. He couldn’t say how he knew that, but he did.

Was that something the Soldier would do? He didn’t know. First of all, he couldn’t remember if he had ever eaten ice cream, and if he had, what it tasted like. He didn’t know where that film in his head came from, was it implanted by Hydra?

The Captain would know. Finding him might be a little more difficult than when he was following a mission under orders. He could still locate him by sundown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised banality, and here it is. Also, Bucky chain smokes, and has flashbacks while having a dental exam. Random reference/paraphrased quotation from Band of Brothers mixed in there somewhere.

2167 South Liberty Street, Apartment 3C. There was something ironic, almost funny about how Rogers lived on a street with that name. The Soldier didn’t know how or why he knew that was Rogers’ residence. Was it information planted from his Mission? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t remember.

That last wipe had, well…it hadn’t been followed up with as heavy a dose of the injections as previous wipes. He wasn’t sure exactly what the injections were, but they were supposed to increase healing time, increase tolerance for pain, and in a more general sense "increase compliance with the directive". He had half a dose of his normal injections after his last wipe, and had gone right back out into action without rest. The Perfect Soldier. The Soldier had moments where he felt there was another entire person inside of him screaming out for deliverance. He still wasn’t sure who that person was, if it was this Bucky person that Rogers kept insisting on calling him. That fractured personality crying out from inside could have been implanted by Hydra for all he knew. He had become incapable of separating fact from fiction, his mind had not been his own for a very long time now.

A part of the Soldier knew he probably shouldn’t be sitting out in the open like this. He wasn’t visible from the street, and he was almost certain he wasn’t being watched at the moment. Even so, sitting on the front stoop of Rogers’ apartment waiting for him to come home was not the smartest thing he had done since he abandoned his Mission. He pulled his jacket tighter around his bruised chest.

The Soldier felt a strange sensation pass through his midsection.

Hunger. That feeling was hunger. He hadn’t known what that was, after all, he had been given injections to inhibit those feelings. The Soldier had rarely even eaten actual food, he had been fed through a tube for as long as he could remember.

The fact that he even felt hunger and realized he needed to eat was a warning sign to the Soldier. Last time this happened, he had started to ask questions. Questions his handlers didn’t like. Questions that led to a wipe.

Except now there were no handlers.

The Soldier reached into the pocket of his dirty jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He remembered liking these, a long time ago. He had walked past someone smoking on the street the other day, and the acrid secondhand smoke opened another locked door in his mind. He loved the heady rush of the first few drags and the comforting and soothing sensation of the exhaling of smoke from his lungs. These tasted and felt smoother than he remembered. He had picked open a cigarette, and the small foam-like filter piece on the end was unfamiliar to him. He had pulled the piece off before lighting up the first time, but after testing it out, decided that these cigarettes were better with the filter on the end.

They were excellent for passing the time. He sat back against the door and lit up like an old pro, the nicotine satiating _something_ in him. He exhaled and waited.

* * *

 

Steve saw the slumped figure in tattered clothing before he even started up his walkway. He was seated, leaning against the front door, hat pulled down over his forehead. He was smoking a cigarette. The crumpled pile of butts next to him betrayed how long he had been waiting. The lit cigarette dangled from the full bottom lip, smoke trailing out of his nostrils. He looked up, and the expression was so Bucky, even underneath the uncharacteristic beard and overgrown hair, that Steve found it hard to breathe for a second.

“So you found me, huh, Buck?” Steve finally managed to catch his breath and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I found the exhibit at the museum. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. He’s in the exhibit.” Bucky didn’t get up. He didn’t even look up at Steve. “They called him a hero, at the museum. James. Bucky. You kept calling me that name.”

Steve sat down in front of Bucky. A sad smile twitched at his lips. “It’s your name, Buck.”

“I think his name, that name, might be all that’s left of Bucky, though.” Bucky inhaled the cigarette all the way down to the filter and stubbed it out next to his pile of butts. The nonchalance with which he delivered that last phrase made Steve’s chest ache. Out of all the ways he imagined seeing Bucky again, and he imagined it a million and one different ways, this was not anything close to what Steve had envisioned. He had imagined an emotional, cathartic reunion. This reunion was almost wordless. Anticlimactic would be an understatement. The two of them were basically just staring at each other on Steve's front stoop.

Steve crossed his arms across his chest, willing his hands to not start shaking. He was nervous as hell. “You...uh, you hungry at all?”

“No.” The sharp lines of cheekbones and loose fitting clothing told a different story. Steve looked at the ground nervously. “If you, ah, change your mind, I can fix you something to eat. Or we can go out somewhere and get some food. Whatever you want.”

Bucky shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Ice cream. Strawberry. I….had a dream about it. I think.”

Steve’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite, Buck. I have some in my freezer, if you want.”

Bucky tentatively met Steve’s gaze. “Okay, that would be okay.” The corner of his mouth pulled upwards into a crooked grin that almost knocked Steve over with the memories it triggered. Bucky looked down guiltily at the pile of cigarette butts and the empty pack next to him. Steve waved the mess away nonchalantly. “It’s okay. I’ll get it later. Let’s just go inside for now, okay?”

Bucky, James, the Winter Soldier, whoever he was, stepped into Steve’s apartment with visible trepidation. Steve watched him do a complete 360, taking in his surroundings, cataloging everything in his mind. “It’s okay, Buck. You’re safe here. Come on, the kitchen’s this way.”

* * *

Steve placed a bowl of strawberry ice cream in front of Bucky, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Bucky tentatively placed the spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth. There was a brief register of pleasure in his eyes before white hot pain exploded into his jaw. Bucky howled, actually howled, and dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter. He clapped his hand over his mouth, pressing down on his lower jaw. The brief feeling of contentment Steve had felt disappeared, quickly replaced by a feeling of guilt and horror that somehow, and he didn't know how, he had hurt Bucky.

“Buck, what is it?"

“Mouth. Teeth hurt…”

“How bad, Buck?” Bucky gasped out, not removing his hand. “I don’t know. Just hurts.”

Steve could imagine the kind of dental upkeep Hydra performed on their weapons.

Bucky bared his teeth at Steve in response, pulling his lips back on one side. “Here.”

Steve didn’t know where “here” meant. No wonder Bucky had howled at the spoonful of ice cream. He was missing several teeth further back on the top, and some of the remaining teeth appeared to be broken. The first thing that came to Steve’s mind was _Hydra testing_. Or _torture_. Or what if it was a side effect of the inferior serum that Bucky had been given by Zola and his team?

He unconsciously ran his tongue over his own teeth. The serum, just as it affected every other aspect of his body, had affected his teeth as well. At first, he thought it was ridiculous and impossible, but how ridiculous and impossible were all the other effects of the serum? Steve had read just about all he could take of the medical report Howard had given to him after the experiment. _“In the interest of transparency,”_ Howard had said. What had the report he read on all possible effects of the serum say in the section on oral and dental effects of the serum? Strong resistance to both dental caries and discoloration of tooth enamel. Remineralization of tooth enamel. He stopped reading the report after that; after the first couple of paragraphs it got more and more tedious and harder to understand, unless you were a doctor. Gawking at himself in the mirror after the serum, though, he noticed that his teeth _did_ look different. They were straighter, more even, and felt like they fit behind his lips better. In the bright light from above the bathroom mirror, they looked more than just a little bit whiter. All the better for Captain America’s smiling face on war bond posters.

Buck had noticed too, even ribbed him a little for it, at the bar, after Captain America’s Big Damn Rescue. Before everything else went straight to hell.

_“Another round. Cap’n ‘Merica’s buyin’.” Steve tried his best to ignore how Bucky’s speech had started to slur more and more in the past hour. He was three sheets to the wind, not that Steve could really judge him for wanting to let off a little steam. It’s just that he wasn’t sure that letting off steam was what Bucky was doing. It wasn’t that he was judging Buck. It wasn’t that at all. He wasn’t the one who had been no better than a lab rat in a Hydra camp._

_After all, Buck was here, he was alive. Steve had joined the army, was practically living his goddamn dream right now. He couldn’t figure out why it just didn’t feel like what he thought it would. Pushing those thoughts aside as best he could, he grinned widely at Bucky’s drunken chatter as the barkeep slid another mug of lager across the bar to him and topped off Bucky’s whiskey._

_Bucky had gone quiet, though. He passed his tumbler of whiskey from hand to hand, all the while staring goofily at Steve’s face. “Jesus, Steve. Those teeth, Hydra’ll see you comin’ from a mile away, shoot ya dead.” Steve pressed his lips together quickly and flushed deep red, all the while a small smile fighting to escape his closed mouth. Everything the serum changed in him, and he still blushed at the drop of a hat. He still wasn’t used to people drawing attention to all the changes in his body. He had been doing a lot of blushing since the serum. Still, apart from the initial soreness, clumsiness, and the fact that he could finally breathe without wheezing or rattling, he didn’t feel much different. He wanted to scream to everyone paying attention to him now that he was still the same person he had always been. The fact that it was Bucky calling attention to something as banal as his teeth,_ his teeth for God’s sake, _made him feel more self-conscious than he had in months, even after parading around on a stage in tights and pancake makeup. He felt the edges of his teeth with his tongue, then forced a close-mouthed smile. Bucky laughed and nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own. “You don’t have to hide ‘em from me, Stevie. They’re nice lookin’. Shiny, just like a movie star."_

 _Steve had to laugh at that. "You mean you didn't see Captain America's film reels, Buck? I_ am _a movie star," he joked, but Bucky was suddenly a million miles away._

 _“Back at that Hydra base. When you found me, your smile was the first thing I saw, ya' know, Stevie? You still looked scared as hell. In your eyes. I could see it. But you just had that stupid grin on your face. Like you couldn’t figure out whether to be scared or happy. It took me a while to figure out you were real." Bucky stopped suddenly, deflating. “When I was strapped to that table, for I don’t know how long, I kept hearing your voice, in and out of my dreams. When you found me, I didn’t believe it was really you. I thought I’d finally cracked. Or those bastards had killed me.” Bucky tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “Oh, god, Stevie, the things they did to me. I wish I could forget…” Steve watched in horror as Bucky’s face crumpled. He was_ so _drunk._ “ _Come on, Buck. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, shaking him gently, getting him to his feet. “You need to rest.”_

You need rest.

* * *

 

Steve didn't know how he had managed to get Bucky all the way from D.C. to New York to Avengers Tower without it becoming a news event.

He did it, though. When Bucky asked him if he could see a dentist, "So he could eat actual fucking food again," Tony had Pepper go through their list of "safe" consults. Meaning they had passed multiple Stark Industry background checks and were conclusively not Hydra.

Which is why Bucky is now being monitored by JARVIS while having a private dental exam in the medical bay of Avengers Tower.

Steve could still remember getting several of his milk teeth knocked out as a kid, could still remember the coppery tang of blood as it gushed out from the empty space in his gums. He remembered how painful a toothache could be, before the only solution was to go and have it pulled. He could almost feel how much pain Bucky was in now.  He could definitely sense the anxiety radiating off of him, still reclined in the chair. Stark’s dentist friend turned to look at Bucky at the same time Steve did.

“His biggest problem is the long term effects of bruxism.” Steve stared blankly, the look on his face prompting a greater explanation from Stark's dentist. “Basically, he ground his teeth so hard for so long they eventually cracked and broke. Three of his molars. There’s also two of his incisors that are chipped, not too bad though. He needs to have two fillings, and a good cleaning.” He didn’t mention the missing teeth. There isn’t really any way to know if they had been pulled because they needed to be pulled, or if they were pulled in a Hydra torture session. Or if the bruxism was caused by the mind wipes or cryo. Without dental records, no one would know for sure. Hydra wouldn’t keep dental records on secret cryogenically frozen assassins.

Steve imagined Bucky grinding his teeth in anguish in that horrible bank vault that Natasha discovered, or in the throes of a cold sleep dream. Was there any part of Bucky, no matter how small, that Hydra hadn't fucked with? 

Either way, Bucky was one hundred percent done with today’s exam. He had begun to hyperventilate, his hands had tightly clenched the arms of the chair. Bucky crushed the left arm of the chair within his metal fist. Steve became dimly aware of JARVIS telling them in no uncertain terms that Sergeant Barnes’ heart rate and blood pressure was in a dangerous place. Steve knew there wasn’t any reason to feel responsible; Bucky had not only _agreed_ to the x-rays and dental exam, he _had asked_ for them. Steve thought that was a good sign. It showed he was trying to reclaim some bodily agency.

Still, Steve should have known that sitting, _reclined, in a fucking dentist’s chair_ would be triggering for Bucky. At the same time, the last thing he wanted to do was treat Bucky like a fragile _thing_. Not after he had been treated as an object, a weapon, for so long. He felt so torn. He didn't know what the right thing to do was in this situation. Steve knew he'd do whatever it took. Bucky. It was just Bucky.

“Come on, Buck. You’re safe. You’re in Avengers Tower, with me, Steve. You’re with friends, people who want to help you. You can get up if you want. There’s nothing holding you down to the chair. Lift your hands. See?” _Talk him through, just understand, and be there, Steve_.

Bucky’s eyes burst open after holding them shut tightly for what had seemed like hours. Steve stood in front of him, looking straight into his eyes. He could almost pinpoint the exact second that Bucky began to realize where he was; that what was actually happening was not Hydra’s doing. A fog of terror cleared from Bucky’s eyes, replaced just as swiftly by glistening tears. “Steve. Steve. Steve," Bucky whispered, trancelike.

Steve grasped both of Bucky’s shaking hands in his own. It was the first time Bucky had called him by name, since...god, since the war. Hearing his name come from Bucky's lips again felt like getting shot in the gut, which is something he knew a little about. Steve drew a shaky breath and choked out, “I’m right here, Buck. Right here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky leaves out an ingredient in a smoothie. Steve is very surprised. Sam can read Steve like a book, even when they're talking on the phone. Did I leave anything out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually getting way out of hand. I hadn't planned for this to be a multi-chaptered fic, but it's turned into one. I added additional tags, since, yeah. It's really more fluff and stuff than smut, since I'm horrible at writing smut. I don't know if I could do it to save my life. Who knows, I could surprise myself, though.  
> Any and all feedback is welcome!

Natasha had driven Bucky and Steve back to D.C. in one of Tony's Maseratis. Steve had groaned when he saw the mode of transportation she had picked out. "You know, Nat, I was trying to stay under the radar with Bucky."

"I know. Have you seen me drive? I'll have you back in D.C. in no time. Completely under the radar. Spy stuff." Natasha winked. Bucky had already climbed into the back seat and fallen asleep. "See? He doesn't mind."

Bucky was exhausted. Tony had offered them both an entire _floor_ in the tower to stay in, permanently if they wanted. When that didn't work, he tried to get Pepper to persuade Steve. Most people agreed that Pepper had better people skills, to put it pretty mildly. Still, all Steve could think about was getting back to his own apartment, and making sure Bucky came back with him. At least for now. God knows he missed New York. It just wasn't the same. It was almost painful to be in the city with how much it had changed.

Bucky slept the entire trip back, or he was faking being asleep like a pro. Nat had dropped them off in the alley behind Steve's building at Steve's request. Anything to draw less attention to the sleek black Maserati. Bucky took off his leather jacket(a gift from Tony, no doubt curated by Pepper's eye) and collapsed on the couch as soon as the two entered the apartment. Steve went straight to the kitchen to make coffee and try to make something Bucky would eat. Anything would be good.

Maybe a smoothie, something he could drink through a straw. Steve stood in front of the open fridge, yogurt and strawberries in his hand. He grabbed a banana from the counter and whirled around to Bucky standing right behind him. “Oops. I thought you were on the couch, Buck. I didn’t hear you come in to the kitchen. I was going to make you a smoothie.”

Bucky’s eyebrows twitched slightly. “What’s a smoothie?”

Steve set the fruit and yogurt down on the counter. “It’s fruit and yogurt mixed up with ice, and you drink it. It’s good. I was going to make you one without ice, because of your mouth. You can drink it through a straw, too. Look,” He motioned to the blender next to the stove. “You just put everything in there, press the button. You don’t even have to do anything else. It just mixes it all up.”

Steve watched as Bucky dumped fruit and yogurt into the blender. In the split second it took for him to turn around and reach for his coffee cup, he heard the blender whirr, then Bucky’s angry growl. “Fuck!”

Bucky didn’t put the lid on the blender before turning it on. Steve realized when he had said you don’t even have to do anything else, it probably didn’t occur to Bucky to make sure the lid was on _tightly_ before flipping the switch and making the smoothie. The contents of a very full blender were now splattered around the kitchen and all over Bucky. Steve wiped a banana chunk off of his own forehead.

“Yeah, Buck. About that, there’s a lid that goes on top. Use that next time.” He stepped towards Bucky, laughing as he did so. He wanted to make sure Bucky knew he wasn’t angry. It was pretty funny, actually. Bucky whirled around to face Steve, his face dotted with half-mixed smoothie. “Sorry, Steve.”

There he went again, using his name. It spread a warmth inside Steve he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Don’t be sorry. I needed to clean the kitchen from top to bottom anyway.” He grinned brightly, and swiped at the pink on Bucky’s face. Before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his finger to his lips and licked the yogurt off playfully. “Yep, just as I thought, one ingredient missing. Lid. Yeah, definitely missing lid. You know, next time…”

Steve was cut off by the soft crush of Bucky’s lips against his. He could feel his heart pounding, blood coursing through his veins; he closed his eyes and imagined he was watching _this_ happening from outside his body.

Buck’s lips felt so good _,_ light and plush. At the same time, they were desperate, heavy, weighted with something else Steve couldn’t place. He tasted strawberries on his tongue. When Bucky finally pulled away, his mouth was red and wet. Still had smoothie on his face. His eyes were wide and surprised, his pupils blown.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Steve’s voice cracked on the last word.

Bucky grabbed a towel from the counter, flustered. “Shit. _Shit._ I don’t…I’m sorry.” He wiped at the remaining smoothie on his face and wrung the towel between his hands.

Steve felt like he was gasping for breath. “Don’t be sorry. Please, Buck, don’t ever be sorry.”

Bucky’s chin and lower lip quivered. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something else, but then turned suddenly and grabbed his jacket off the couch, his cigarettes from the coffee table. “I’m goin’ up to the roof. To smoke.”

Steve nodded wordlessly. The slam of the apartment door made him flinch. He stared around him at the messy kitchen and sighed. At least he could keep his mind occupied with some mind numbing cleaning for a while. If he didn’t think about _it_ maybe he wouldn’t fall apart.

The kitchen was spotless now. He had just thrown the sponge into the sink and tossed the last paper towel in the trash when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

Sam.

 _Shit,_ Steve thought, _Sam knows when I try to pass a lie off on him. Well, everyone knows when I’m lying, but Sam always seems to know_ why _I’m lying._ He hesitated before answering, trying to force his voice to sound normal.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Steve! Glad I got ya, I thought you might be still in New York, working.”

“Nah, I got back earlier this afternoon. What are you up to?”

“I was just going to ask you that, man. You sound a little off. Everything okay?”

Steve couldn’t contain his sharp exhale. Sam was good. Too good.

“Okay, now I know something’s up. Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to come over there and beat it out of you?” Sam laughed. “I’m just kidding, man. I would never do that, you’d kick my ass. Seriously, though, Steve. Just say the word and I’m there. I’m done at the VA early, and I was gonna see if you wanted to grill out tonight. That’s why I called. I know you have that rooftop with a view, perfect for a barbecue. So. What’s. Going. On.”

Steve thought about Bucky on the rooftop, probably huddled up in a folding chair. He laughed bitterly. “It’s Bucky, Sam.”

Sam was silent on the other end. “You found him, didn’t you?”

“He found me, actually. I’ve been in New York at Avengers Tower for the past three days with him.”

More silence. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m coming over. Give me an hour.”

“Okay, Sam. See you in a few.”

Steve poured the rest of the coffee and drank it cold. If anyone had advice Steve could listen to right now, it would be Sam.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes at the beginning from Firefly, and Bruce Springsteen's Lost in the Flood. 
> 
> So, I thought that fandom had a corner on the saddest sad thoughts that could be possibly be conceived about Steve and Bucky, but I believe I have read a comic that came close to some of the worst things I've read. I was reading an Ultimates (I know a lot of people, and I include myself in this, have a LOT of problems with Ultimates!Cap, but regardless...), and in the Ultimate universe, Steve Rogers is unfrozen in time, just like in the MCU and Earth 616. HOWEVER in this universe, Bucky never died, and is an old man in the world Cap wakes up in. An old, sick, dying man. There were a couple of panels that just about killed me. Seriously, not what I needed to read right now, let me tell you. Also, Bucky calls Steve "Stevie" in this comic, please just kill me now.
> 
> All of that is to say, this chapter turned out a lot darker than I originally intended. Thanks Ultimate!Cap/OldMan!Bucky. 
> 
> This chapter is written with minor POV shifts, hopefully it isn't confusing or hard to follow. Let me know what you thought worked/didn't work.

_When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't crawl - when you can't do that...you find someone to carry you.—Firefly_

_That pure American brother, dull-eyed and empty-faced… The kids call him Jimmy the Saint.—Bruce Springsteen_

 

* * *

 

 

“Back it up a minute. He did what?”

“He just…laid one on me. It was out of nowhere. I don’t know what to do.”

“Out of nowhere? Did this ever happen before? It’s not an old memory resurfacing?”

“We had never, not before, no.” Steve rubbed his forehead tiredly. “See, what happened, well…we _just_ got back from New York. He was going to mix up a smoothie, and he didn’t put the lid on. It went everywhere, and I…well, I licked yogurt off his face.” Sam’s eyes went wide. “Well, it wasn’t directly off his face. I sort of dipped my finger in it, and, well, then the next thing I knew, his lips were on me. I guess when I put it like that, I was practically inviting him to kiss me. I didn’t stop him.” Steve sighed. “I sure as hell didn’t hate it. I just…I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam nodded, pursing his lips, weighing his thoughts. “You’re worried about Bucky. You don’t want him to do something because he thinks you want or need him to, especially so soon after getting away from Hydra. But you know, it sounds to me like he’s trying to figure out things for himself, though. I mean, if he came to you, that’s a pretty big decision to make by himself, Steve.”

Steve fidgeted nervously, clenching and unclenching a fist. “The thing is, I don’t know if I can help him. I don’t think I know _how_ to help him. I know the war was ages ago, but it only feels like a few years. It only feels like a few years since Bucky fell off that train. Now it turns out he’s not dead, but every day since he came back feels like I’m losing him all over again. _Still_ losing him.” Steve gripped the counter for support. “I can’t explain the feeling I get, Sam. Sometimes just _looking_ at him hurts. _Physically_ hurts. I get so I can’t breathe, and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. It hurts _so fucking much.”_

“Talking about it, like you’re doing now, that’s a step in the right direction, Steve. I know it hurts. But that’s part of healing. Just being there for Bucky, like you’re already doing, is helping him. You’re giving him something he hasn’t had in a long time: choice. You admit that you don’t have all the answers. Guess what, no one has all the damn answers, Steve. Not even super soldiers.” That drew a small grin from Steve. “Speaking of super soldiers, those of us who are not one need to keep up their strength too. Maybe we could move this to the roof, get the grill fired up?” Sam winked.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve came through the door to the roof with…dammit. The man with the wings. Bucky jumped up and backed away. The man was wearing normal clothes this time, and carrying a paper bag and a plate of steaks. “It looks like you’ve beat us here, Soldier. It’s good to see you. Steve was pretty worried about you.” He wasn’t wearing goggles or an exoskeleton; there was no trace of the wings he was wearing the last time Bucky had seen him.

“I tore off your wing. I’m…I’m sorry I did that.” Bucky looked at his feet.

Sam laughed. “You should blame Hydra for that, not yourself.” He thrust out his hand towards Bucky. “Sam Wilson.”

Bucky gripped his hand tentatively. “Bucky. Just Bucky.”

Sam smiled. “Good to meet you, Just Bucky. You like beer?” Bucky’s mouth curled upward in what could have been a smile. “I think so.”

Steve was watching from a distance. He had carried up the case of beer Sam had brought; set it down next to the grill. Sam was laughing with Bucky, _laughing_.

An unwanted pang of jealousy passed through Steve. He hadn’t been able to make Bucky laugh, and Sam had done it within five minutes of meeting the son of a bitch. A second pang, guilt, hit Steve just as strongly and just as quickly. What did it matter who or what helped Bucky reclaim what he had lost? Steve just wanted Bucky to do what was best for _Bucky,_ everything else could go to hell. So what if Bucky had made an instant connection with Sam? Steve fought Nazis, Hydra, armies from outer space for God’s sake, but somehow every time he fought for his best friend he lost bitterly. He knew it was wrong to think so, but he felt like he was failing Bucky again.

Steve chuckled under his breath. What would the country at large think if they knew that Captain America, who stood for all that is right and good, was a selfish, angry, jealous bastard? He cracked open a beer and took a long pull. It was cold, hoppy, and just a tad bitter. He didn’t care if he couldn’t get a good buzz off of it, the beer gave him something to hold in his hand to keep it from nervously fidgeting. It gave him something to do to look less awkward while Sam chatted with Bucky.

“Hey, Captain, don’t bogart the beer, man. Bring us a couple, would ya?” Steve pulled out two bottles of Yuengling from the case and walked them over to where Sam and Bucky were standing. He held out the beers, smile pasted on his face.

Someone desperately needed to teach Steve to be a more convincing liar.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky whimpered in his sleep every night since he had ended up on Steve’s doorstep. Tonight, though, Steve jerked awake to the sound of Bucky screaming himself hoarse.

Steve leapt out of bed and rushed to the living room where Bucky was twisting in his makeshift bed on the couch. He had ripped off all the blankets and sheets and thrown them to the floor. His eyes were wide open, but he didn’t seem aware of his surroundings. Light from the streetlamps and the full moon streamed in through the window, casting an eerie glow on Bucky’s sweat drenched face. He clutched his flesh arm tightly to his chest, his hand curled inward in a closed fist. His legs were folded underneath him awkwardly, and it almost looked like he was trying to protect his legs with his metal arm.

“No. _No,_ goddammit, please don’t, _please,”_ Steve could only make out phrases of what Bucky was saying, partially due to his mumbling, and partially due to the Russian he kept spitting out.

Against his better judgment, Steve gripped Bucky’s shoulders and shook him, gently. “Buck. Bucky. It’s Steve. You gotta wake up, okay? You’re dreaming. Whatever it is you’re dreaming, it’s not real. It’s _not real,_ and you’re safe. You’re safe here.”

Bucky looked Steve directly in the eyes, still deep in the throes of his terrible nightmare. “Please don’t. Don’t do it, _please._ ”

Steve swallowed thickly. The lump lodged in his throat refused to budge. “Do what, Buck?”

Bucky was quaking. “Pull any more out.” His hair hung in front of his eyes.

Steve paled, thankful for cover of darkness. “Pull any more _what_ out, Buck?”

“My nails. My teeth. _Please,_ ” Bucky begged, “Don’t pull any more out. The blood. The pliers. I can’t take it. I’ll tell you what you want. Just stop. Please.” Steve wanted to throw up. He knew those Hydra bastards tortured Bucky, had broken him somehow. Other than the mind wipes, he didn’t know specifics of _how_ he had been tortured. But Bucky was reliving his torture right in front of Steve right now, and Steve couldn’t imagine anything worse. He never wanted to slaughter every single bit of Hydra more than he did at this exact moment.

“I would never do that, Buck. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you anymore.” Something in Bucky broke then, and he fell forward, his face smashing into Steve’s chest. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky. He couldn’t help but feel that his offering of protection and comfort was meager, but it was all he had. “I got you, Buck.” He smoothed one palm over Bucky’s back, tense as a bound cord, and ghosted his other hand through Bucky’s tangled hair. “I’ll carry you.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! I added a few new tags for this chapter for mentions of torture/mentions of rape. Basically, fuck Hydra. Bucky is a chimney (don't smoke after having teeth pulled, it's bad. Don't do like Bucky does), and Bucky opens up a little bit to Steve. First part is (more or less) from Bucky's POV, and the second part is Steve's POV. Please let me know what you think about this story so far!

Bucky woke up to thunder rumbling in the distance. It was later than he thought, almost eight o’clock in the morning, but it was still fairly dark outside. The early morning storm clouds looked ominous. Steve had opened up the windows in the room sometime during the night, and the smell of the air before a deluge wafted through the room. It was strangely comforting, somehow.

He didn’t expect to see Steve sprawled out on the floor next to the couch, still sound asleep. Bucky watched him. It was funny, because the sight of Steve asleep was more familiar than Steve had been at all to him since he had started to remember bits of his old life. With his eyes closed and lips just slightly parted, years melted away from Steve’s face. The ever-deepening creases on his forehead and crinkles around his eyes were all but gone. He looked young and peaceful. Happy, even. He must have sensed he was being watched, because suddenly his eyelashes fluttered open, and he sat up slowly. Back against the couch, he turned his head around to face Bucky. "Morning, Buck." He offered a sleepy smile and yawned.

It made Bucky think of Brooklyn. He didn't know why, or how. It was like small pathways were being cleared in his mind.

“The hell? What’re you doing on the floor?” Bucky’s voice was groggy and heavy with sleep.

“I fell asleep here last night after…” Steve trailed off. “After I came out here, and I didn’t want you to be alone. You said you didn’t mind.”

“Oh. The dream.” Bucky stretched his feet off the edge of the couch. “I remember.”

Steve couldn’t help but stare at Bucky’s feet. He tried not to, he felt horrible for doing it, but he couldn’t look away. He could see Bucky's toes and toenails, all jagged, some blackened and scarred. Several digits had no visible nail.

_Please don’t pull any more out…I can’t take it._

“Bucky,” Steve whispered breathlessly. He reached out gently as if to touch Bucky’s feet.

Bucky responded by pulling his feet underneath the blanket. “It’s nothing. It’s healed now.”

“It’s not nothing, Buck.” Steve drew a shaky breath.

“They pulled out my teeth with pliers. Ripped out my toenails. They sawed off the bloody stump of my arm while I was still fucking awake.” Bucky stopped, his words coming out all choppy and stunted. “So, yeah, I guess it’s not nothing.” He stole a glance at Steve, whose hands were visibly shaking. Bucky kept going. “Have you ever been in so much pain that you just checked out? Actually left your body? There’s times I can remember watching myself strapped down in a chair. I felt like I was floating. All the drugs they pumped into me all day long. So many drugs. Every kind you could imagine. ”

“Bucky.”

“I know they tested out drugs on me. I was the test subject for a paralytic drug, once. I was awake, but I couldn’t move anything. Everyone, all the handlers… I…they…Steve, all of them at once, it was horrible. I was just a toy, and they played with me until the drug wore off. Sometimes even after. I was strapped down, I couldn't do anything to them.”

“ _Bucky.”_ Steve’s voice was barely a whisper. “They…they used you and violated you and dehumanized you, but you came back. You’re stronger than they are. That’s how you broke through your programming.”

“When you said my name, that day on the bridge, I think that’s what broke my programming the first time. My name was the first thing they took away from me. You gave it back to me, Stevie.”

Steve hid his face in his shaking hands. He was mostly quiet, but he had to be crying. Steve always used to do that, he had hated to let anyone see his face when he cried, even Bucky.

Some things never changed.

Steve inhaled, his intake long, deep, and shaky. He scrubbed his hands over his cheeks before removing them, trying to get rid of the evidence. His eyes glittered in the dim light, wetness still clinging to his lashes. “Those….those animals that did that to you, Bucky…they can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.” Steve’s voice was gravelly and deep, even deeper than usual.

“That’s what you don't understand. They’re still there, still in my head. I can’t get rid of them. Sometimes, if I try, I can make everything go away. But it always comes back. They’re still in there, doing things to me over and over and over again.”

Steve was silent. He grabbed Bucky’s hand gently, and when he was not met with disapproval, he brought it up to his mouth and kissed it softly. His eyes were shut, and his long lashes stood out against his reddened cheeks. Steve lowered Bucky’s hand and clasped it together with his two hands. “Buck, if you don’t believe anything else right now, please, _please_ believe this: I am going to do everything I can to get them out of your head. Whatever you need me to do or want me to do. And I won’t _ever_ do anything you don’t want me to do. That’s a promise, Buck. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, they’re out of my head for now. Only because Steve told them to fuck off.”

Steve laughed shakily and offered a small, close-lipped smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, and the creases on his forehead were back with a vengeance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky remembered a saying. Well, part of one anyway. Something about laughing so you don’t cry. He thought that was exactly what Steve was doing, and that he was pretty good at it.

The thunder was closer now. Rain pounded against the open screen, and Steve shot up to close the window before rain started to blow in. “Don’t much feel like going for a run in this rain this morning, Buck.”

"Neither do I."

"You didn't forget we have to go back to Stark Tower today, did you? You have to get your teeth worked on."

Bucky dragged nicotine stained fingers through his shaggy hair. "Dammit. Yeah, I remember."

 

* * *

 

 The first session went smoothly, much more smoothly than Steve would have guessed. Despite the fact that someone in a mask and white coat was scraping and prodding at Bucky’s teeth, Bucky didn’t seem bothered.

Natasha had suggested that someone be standing by with a syringe full of diazepam, just in case. Bucky agreed, as long as whatever it was didn’t knock him out completely. He didn’t care if it wasn’t Hydra doing the work, Bucky couldn’t stand the idea of someone working on him while he was out.

But it was a fucking _lot_ of dental work. There was no way it could be all done in one day. The cleaning was almost done, so that was one thing crossed off the list. He still needed fillings, and bonding to fix the chipped teeth. It turned out that some of his teeth needed to be pulled, too. The ones that bore the brunt of the grinding had to go. He would get dental implants eventually, to replace all of the missing teeth.

Even though Bucky didn’t seem too nervous, Steve was almost sick with worry that something would trigger Bucky, like it did the last time he had been in the dentist’s chair. Six hours later, _six hours, good Christ,_ and Bucky stumbled out of the medical bay, hand on his jaw, and headed straight for the elevator. “I’m going to the balcony. I need some goddamn air, Steve.”

Steve followed, and when the elevator stopped at “their” floor, Bucky pulled out a half-empty pack of Parliaments from his jeans and lit up. Still inside. Steve didn't feel like giving him a lecture on the way smoking indoors was viewed in 2014. He eyed him disapprovingly instead. “You’re going to get dry socket. Not to mention cancer…”

Bucky glared at Steve and defiantly blew smoke in Steve’s face. “I’m old as fuck. I can do whatever I want.”

Steve didn’t flinch. “Well, those are both true statements. You could still get dry socket. You had a lot of teeth pulled. How are you not in pain right now?”

Bucky took a deep drag. The cherry of the smoke glowed and burned down the paper. “Bruce gave me some special drugs. Anyway, the dentist said I would heal pretty quick. Not as quick as you, but still quicker than most people. My mouth is still half-numb, though.” They stepped out through the sliding doors onto the balcony. The city bustled dozens of floors underneath their feet. Smoke curled around their heads as Bucky finished and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray on the stand next to where he stood.

“I thought it would make me remember more. If I did it.”

Steve turned his head, then his whole body to face Bucky. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Do what, Buck?”

“Kiss you. The other day, when I kissed you, I thought I was missing something, in my mind. I…I can’t explain it, Stevie. There’s times when I remember things. Things about you. It’s not always a lot, usually it’s just a small piece. But I remember it so _much._ More than other things I remember. It’s intense. I felt like I needed to kiss you, that it would make me remember something else. But it didn’t. I didn’t remember more, and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Buck?”

“Not asking first. Not remembering.”

Steve laughed. It was empty, a sad sounding laugh. A-laugh-so-you-don’t-cry-laugh. “Don’t make me keep telling you not to be sorry. Anyway, there wasn’t anything to remember. It wasn’t something that, well...it didn’t happen before.” Bucky looked sad suddenly. Steve tried to elaborate. “It wasn’t unwelcome, but it just didn’t happen before. It felt good, but it just feels good to know you’re back, though, Buck.”

Bucky slumped onto the floor of the balcony. Steve sat down in front of him, long legs crossed. “Could I do it again, maybe?” Bucky's eyes looked hopeful.

Steve’s lips parted. His tongue peeked out to rest on his lip. “Oh! Yes, Buck. God, yes.”

Bucky leaned forward and lightly pressed his lips to Steve's. This time, Steve kissed back. Hungrily. He teased Bucky's lips open with his tongue. He could taste Bucky's cigarette, and he couldn't even say how much he didn't care. It was still awkward, though, and Steve tried hard to avoid clashing teeth together, since Bucky had _just_ had those chipped teeth fixed.

Bucky pulled away first. Steve reached out and cupped Bucky's cheek. His beard rasped against Steve's open palm, the skin underneath warm and _alive._ Steve smiled wide, the first real smile Bucky had seen on his face in a while. "I can't get over this, Buck. You. I...I'm so glad you're here. I missed you so, so much. I know I keep telling you that." His eyes were sparkling. Bucky leaned into Steve's chest, and let Steve wrap his arms around him. 

Bucky didn't have the heart to tell Steve that the more he remembered, the more he wished he hadn't been brought back.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky decides to change his hair. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of Bucky in a ponytail or messy bun as much as anyone. I just didn't want to do the whole Bucky-cuts-his-hair-like-he-had-it-in-the-40s fic trope. Not that there's anything wrong with that. *hides* I just wanted to do something different for this chapter. I thought of it as Bucky trying to reclaim his person, with the knowledge that he is neither the person he used to be, nor the machine Hydra made him. That reclamation manifested itself in a haircut. No new tags for this chapter, although it is shorter than previous chapters.

It was going to be another night at Stark Tower, or Avengers Tower, or whatever the hell it was that Tony was calling this huge hulking monstrosity of steel and glass in the middle of downtown. Although he hated to admit it, the tower was actually growing on Bucky. There was never a dull moment, for sure. There was always someone around if you needed company, or there was always peace and quiet if you’d prefer that.

Bucky pulled the comb through his shoulder length tangle of hair, hating every last strand on his head. Steve had offered to take him somewhere to get it cut, he’d even offered to do it himself if he didn’t want a stranger with a pair of shears and an electric razor near him.

Bucky had refused. He didn’t want Steve to cut his hair. He was scared Steve would, unconsciously or not, try to cut his hair the way he remembered it, _from before._ The easily-tangled mess he had now just reminded him of being weaponized, frozen and unfrozen, and disregarded. Neither option was desirable.

Maybe he should just start fresh.

After digging in the cabinets, Bucky's search proved fruitful. He gripped the electric razor in his hand. He fiddled with the settings until he set the switch to what he thought was the right one, then got to work. The whirring noise of the razor echoed in the spacious bathroom. He mentally prayed to no one in particular that Steve wouldn't walk in on him until he finished. For some reason, this felt personal, and he didn't want anyone to watch him.

Chunks of hair fell to the bathroom floor as Bucky shaved his head close to his scalp. When he was done, the floor was covered with clumps of his hair, and he barely recognized the face in the mirror as his own. He thought he looked so, so strange without the tangled mess framing his face. The sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw looked even more angular, almost gaunt. Especially without anything to hide behind.

His new close-cropped hair also revealed scars, small places on his scalp where hair no longer grew. He had no recollection of how these came to be. Steve would notice those, for sure.

Maybe the haircut wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Bucky half-assed a cleanup, grabbing large pieces of hair from the floor and tossing them in the trash can. He heard the floor creaking and footfalls as Steve got up from the couch in the living room. “Buck, you hungry at all? I was going to see if you wanted to…” His words drifted off as he turned the corner and came face to face with Bucky standing in the bathroom doorway. “…eat dinner or something.” Steve’s eyes widened, and he stared like he was looking at Bucky for the first time. The intensity of his gaze took Bucky’s breath away, and he panicked, though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason why. He finally got his use of words back and managed to choke out, “I got sick of my hair like they had it, Steve, I had to cut it.”

Steve moved closer, voice soft. “Can I touch it? Your hair, can I touch it, Buck?”

Bucky nodded, and Steve reached out gingerly, going straight for the spiky hair closest to the scars. Just like Bucky knew Steve would. A surge passed through his skin like an electric shock at Steve’s touch, and quickened when Steve traced the scars with his fingertips.

Steve let out a puff of breath. His jaw twitched, the way it did when he could barely contain some intense emotion. Whether it was anger or sadness, maybe both, Bucky couldn’t tell.

“I can’t remember what those are from, Steve. I didn’t even know they were there until I shaved it off. I kind of wish I didn’t do it now.”

“It’ll grow back, Buck. It’s your hair, you can do whatever you want with it. I could have helped you with it, you know.”

Bucky leaned back against the wall, rubbed his hand over his scalp, over the exact spot Steve’s gentle fingers had touched his scars, and shook his head. “I didn’t want you to,” Bucky stopped, trying to come up with the right sequence of words. “I didn’t want you to have to do that. I didn’t want my hair long anymore, but I didn’t want it like in the museum. Like it used to be.”

Bucky saw the moment realization dawned on Steve. He saw it in the way his head turned to one side, and how his lips moved to take a shuddering breath. Those lines in his forehead came out of hiding again.

“It’s just hair, Buck. You should do whatever you want with it. And I know things aren’t like they used to be. God, I know it.” Steve gave a sharp, forced laugh.

“I was worried for a minute there that you’d be mad at me for shaving my head, for not cutting it like it used to be.”

Steve turned horrified eyes on Bucky. “Buck, when have I ever been mad at you, especially for making your own choices? I’ll never be mad at you for that. I’m _glad_ you want to do that sort of stuff for yourself. I know you’re reclaiming your life, and it makes me so damn happy to know that.” He gripped Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky didn’t flinch when he felt Steve’s hand against the jagged metal seam.

“Before, when you came in, you were asking about dinner? Maybe we could see if Nat or anyone else is hungry too? That might be nice.”

Steve’s face lit up. "That sounds good, Buck. Nat's been bugging me to get you to come down and eat with everyone else sometime."

"Let's go surprise 'em, then, Stevie." Bucky grinned and mock-punched Steve on the arm.

Steve grabbed his sweater from the back of the couch and tossed Bucky his jacket. "It's already started to get cool after dark. You might want this later. Especially if dinner moves to the balcony, like it usually does."

Bucky grabbed his Zippo from the counter. "I'll need this, then." He patted his jacket, feeling for his smokes. "We're good."

Steve rolled his eyes and laughed. "You're a chimney, come on, Buck." He switched off the muted television and the lights on his way out the door. Dinner with the rest of the Avengers was either a fantastic or terrible idea, and it wouldn't be too long before he found out which one of the two.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for domestic and goofy Avengers. Oh, and more feels. Always that. Thanks for reading! Cheers!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets the Avengers. Bruce cooks, it turns out he's accomplished at domestic science as well. Everyone drinks like they're Tony Stark. Steve and Bucky watch a movie, then get some things out in the open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New tags for alcohol (I can't imagine being in the common room at Avengers Tower on a night off, everyone eating dinner together, and alcohol NOT being a part of the proceedings), and a brief bit of dialogue where recreational drug use is referenced (yep, Tony again. Although, I have to say, if Tony was going to use coke, I think he'd probably buy more than the amount I reference. But oh well, that's tagged now.) Suicidal ideation from Bucky, as well. Again, it's basically straight from the comic book, it's nothing graphic but it is there.   
> The movie Steve and Bucky watch together is The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), and it is absolutely ah-maz-ing. Really ahead of its time in a lot of ways. Great in the way it portrays soldiers returning from war, PTSD, relationships, etc. I absolutely recommend it! It's on Amazon Prime Instant Video for free streaming if you're a Prime member, that's where I watched it.   
> I was really worried about my Avengers voices, especially Thor. I've heard a lot of people say it's hard to get his voice right, and I have to say I agree. I think it worked out okay, though.   
> As always, I love reading feedback, feel free to drop a note if you'd like! Thanks also to everyone who left kudos or bookmarked this story, it makes me feel so good to know people are reading it and enjoying it!

 

“Friend Barnes! It is both an honor and a pleasure to finally be in your company. Tales of your courage in battle are legend in Midgard.” Thor held out a tall glass brimming with something foamy. “Let us drink to your glorious return!”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile. “Good to finally meet you, too, Thor.” He accepted the glass, and clinked it against Thor’s. He took a long pull of the brew. “What is this, anyway? I haven’t had beer that tastes like this yet.”

Thor laughed. “Indeed you have not, for this is Asgardian mead, drank by warriors upon their return from battle. Most Midgardians find it too strong for their constitution, but Steven has partaken without much issue. He tells me you are similar to him, that you drank a similar warrior draught?”

Bucky was blank for a few minutes. Warrior draught. “Super soldier serum? No, I didn’t have quite the same thing as Steve. Close, though.” He stared at the glass of mead in his hand and shrugged, as he drank off half the glass. Thor’s laughter filled the room as he clapped Bucky on the back.

“Watch out, there, Inspector Gadget. The last time I drank Thor’s beer, I was blackout city. Pepper said I tried to use her phone to call someone up to buy an eight ball. It was bad.” Tony was next to them all of a sudden, ice clinking in his scotch. “In other news, Bruce is cooking tonight. Clint said he’d help, but it looks like he’s doing a lot more sitting on his ass than cooking.”

Clint poked his head across the kitchen island, coffee mug in hand. “Aw, Tony, come on. I told you I was supervising. I’m making sure the steaks don’t get burnt.”

There wasn’t any danger of that happening; Bruce was a master in the kitchen. He made gazpacho seasoned with cilantro from his own herb garden, potatoes and green beans with bacon, and the steaks were in the process of being grilled to perfection. Plus, there was a peach upside down cake for dessert.

Clint made coffee. To which he may or may not have added a splash of Jameson.

Meanwhile, in the larger space of the common room, Bucky had crashed on one of the huge couches next to Natasha. Relearning how to make small talk was something Bucky had been working on since finding Steve. It made him nervous, being in a larger group of people like he was now. Steve’s presence was familiar and calming, which made everything a little easier. Natasha sensed every bit of his unease. “It’s good to see you, James. I’m glad you decided to join everyone for dinner.” Her smile was genuine and warm. “It _is_ okay that I call you James, isn’t it? If you would like me to call you something else, just tell me.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, it’s nice to be called anything other than “Asset” or “Soldier.” One corner of his mouth curved up in a half smile. “Steve calls me Bucky, but that’s what he’s always called me. Bucky, or sometimes Buck. I like it when he calls me that, but I like it too when you call me James.”

Natasha took a sip of her shiraz. “It sounds like you’ve had time to think about that, James.”

“I’ve had time to think about a lot of things.” Bucky looked around the room. Everyone else had gravitated towards the kitchen. He could hear the warm sounds of Steve’s laughter through the kitchen noises and other voices. It was a good sound, and it made him happier than he thought something that small would.

“It sounds like they’re almost done in there. Bruce is a really good cook, you want to go join the rest of the guys with me?” Bucky nodded and rose with Natasha. She reached up and stroked his forehead gently. “Your hair, it’s a good look for you, by the way.”

Bucky drank the last of his mead and grinned.

In the kitchen, Bruce handed Bucky a bowl filled with something red and green. “I heard you had some dental surgery earlier. I made gazpacho, you won’t have to chew it or anything. It’s good, it’s like chilled soup for the summertime.” Bucky accepted the bowl and tasted warily. His face lit up with pleasure. “This is really good, thank you.”

Bruce smiled shyly. “You can have as much as you want.”

Bucky decided Avengers dinner had been a good idea. True to what he had been told by Steve earlier, the party moved out to the balcony after everyone finished eating. Everyone stretched out on the patio furniture around the fire pit. Bucky pulled out his cigarettes at the same time Natasha pulled out a long, thin wand from her jacket. She eyed the pack of cigarettes in Bucky’s hand. “I should have known you still smoked. Wanna try this?” She held out the wand.

“What is it?” Bucky’s eyes squinted distrustingly at what Natasha held in her hand.                     

“It’s a vaporizer. It’s like cigarettes, but less bad. This stuff tastes like hazelnut. Here. Try it.”

Bucky inhaled, the sweet taste of the vapor spreading throughout his mouth. “It’s not terrible.”

Natasha shrugged. “It’s not. It’s kind of a fad, actually. A lot of people even quit smoking with one of these.” She grinned as Bucky lit up a cigarette. “But you, you’re what, 96, 97 years old now? I think you’ve earned the right to smoke if you want.”

Bucky laughed. That’s exactly what he thought.

There were so many little side conversations going between everybody that Bucky couldn't pick out individual threads of conversation anymore. Until...

“...a goddamn gift to mankind, Rogers.” Tony slurred across the fire pit on the deck chairs.

Bucky suddenly felt like his chest was being crushed. He couldn’t get any air. Those words. They reminded him of something. He knew they were linked to someone, had it been Pierce? Something horrible, to be sure. He was on the verge of remembering, and the small bits he did remember were horrifying. He slowly became aware of hands on his shoulders.

“Bucky.”

* * *

_You don’t do your part, I can’t do mine. Hydra can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”_

_Dozens of heads through crosshairs. The way it felt so natural to pull the trigger._

_“I knew him.”_

“Bucky!”

_“Wipe him.”_

_The handlers programmed the mind wipes so he would always remember the procedure. What they felt like._

_Every. Single. One._

 

* * *

 

 

“Bucky!”

Steve was breathless when Bucky looked up and saw him grasping at his shoulders. “Bucky, are you with me?” Bucky’s quiet nod was all Steve needed. He pulled him into his arms and rubbed circles on his back. “I’m with you, Buck.”

Bucky looked around to see everyone else looking on in concern. “Sorry, guys. I’m just...I don’t know what happened. Tired, I guess.”

Bruce ran his hand through his hair nervously, as was his habit. “Nothing to be sorry about, Bucky. Don’t apologize.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “You know where you are now? You’re in Stark Tower. You’re safe.” Bucky breathed in sharply, nodding along with Steve. “You want to go lie down?”

Bucky nodded. He allowed himself to be led by Steve through the doorway to the bank of elevators. He looked over his shoulder at everyone inside, watching him go with concern, then sagged against Steve tiredly.

 

* * *

 

Steve didn’t wake Bucky up the next morning, he thought he should let him sleep for as long as he could. He didn’t say anything when he finally emerged from his bed at two in the afternoon. He didn’t bring up going back to D.C., Steve thought he would at least wait until tomorrow for that. Give Bucky a little more time to relax. Despite last night’s flashback, Bucky had been all smiles and jokes today. He even suggested going out for a walk with Steve.

In disguise, of course. Steve had eagerly agreed, and it _had_ been fun. Bucky seemed to have enjoyed it, anyway. They had stopped to pick up a pizza on the way back to the tower, and Steve mused that this day couldn’t have been better. Rounding out the day with pizza and beer, watching movies with Bucky. What could possibly go wrong?

“Want to watch a movie, Buck?” Steve held up the remote in his hand, two beers in the other.

“Sure, Stevie. I probably missed some good stuff while I was sleepin’, huh?” Steve grimaced at that, and twisted off the cap from a longneck and handed it to Bucky. “Bruce said we should watch this one movie, I saved it to the playlist here.”

Bucky looked at the television and read from the screen. “The Best Years of Our Lives. What’s it about?”

Steve sat down and leaned back on the couch. “It’s about guys like us, Buck. Guys who went to war and came back to find the rest of the world moved on.” His voice grew soft. “I haven’t watched it yet, I thought I’d see if you wanted to watch it with me. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. We could watch something else…”

“No, no, Steve. We can watch this. It sounds…” Bucky searched for the right words, like he’d been doing lately. “…relevant to my interests.”

Steve’s smile stretched nearly from ear to ear. “Okay, then. You know sometimes when you talk, it’s like we’re back in that tenement in Brooklyn again, and then sometimes, you talk like that, and…” He laughed. “Never mind. Let’s watch the movie, Buck.” Steve scooted over on the couch to make room for Bucky, who plopped down next to him. Their shoulders were touching, cold metal against firm muscle. Steve pressed play.

They barely made it fifteen minutes into the goddamn movie and Steve thinks this is probably the worst idea he could have had.

Bruce could have told him that one of the main characters had a double amputation and now had hooks for hands. Steve nervously looked at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. Bucky was watching the screen, unblinkingly. He smiled as he turned to look at Steve, poking him in the shoulder. “Didja see how he struck that match, Stevie?”

Steve decided maybe it wasn’t as bad an idea as he had thought.

He and Bucky made it through a six pack of beer each during the movie. It was like drinking water to Steve, he figured it was almost the same for Bucky. His interjections throughout the film had sounded sober, at least. Steve sat up when the screen went blank after the credits. “Want another beer before bed, Buck? I could do another one.”

Bucky nodded, running a hand over his head, the raspy sound of spiky hair rubbing against skin filled Steve’s ears.

Steve came back from the kitchen with the beers to find Bucky had moved out to the balcony. He was standing with a cigarette clenched between his front teeth, and he had left the sliding door wide open. He lit up with a snikt of the zippo and exhaled smoke in the cool night air. Steve watched as Bucky bared his teeth into nothingness. He was breathing _hard,_ chest heaving with every intake. Steve felt sick.

“What’s wrong, Buck?”

“Steve…you should have just killed me.”

Steve’s stomach bottomed out. He felt like his airways had closed up, and every syllable he tried to get out around the gigantic lump in his throat was choked and painful as hell. “What, Bucky? Where did that come from?”

“Everything’s coming back. I remember who I am, but I remember who _he_ was too. I know I don’t deserve to be breathing air right now, Stevie.”

“Bucky, that wasn’t _you.”_

“I shot you, Stevie. I shot you and I _laughed_ when you hit the floor bleeding. That was _me. I did that to you._ ”

Steve shook his head. “That wasn’t you. I saw it in your eyes, when you woke up. I know that wasn’t you, Bucky.”

“I was going to smash your skull open, Steve. I almost did it, too.”

Steve thought back to the helicarrier, to the feel of those metal fingers fisted and delivering blow after blow to his face. The pain was excruciating, and not just from the bones smashing and skin tearing.

“But you didn’t, goddammit. You pulled me out of the water, Bucky. You saved my life. Like you’ve been doing our whole lives.”

“You don’t have to live with the things I have to live with now, Steve. It’s like everything I’ve done is playing at top volume in my head. Sometimes I can turn it off, but it’s there most of the time. It’s so heavy, carrying it around in there. I just want it to stop.”

Bucky turned around when he heard a choked sob come from Steve. He had sat back down on the couch, and was seconds away from falling apart along with Bucky.

Bucky absolutely hated himself at this moment. He had made Steve cry more times than he could count in just the past few days, and that fact made Bucky feel even lower than he already did. He could hear partially muffled, wet, sniffling sounds coming from Steve’s direction. The sounds of a broken heart were distinctive and loud. Steve was failing horribly at choking back tears, on his account. He should have kept his goddamn mouth shut.

Steve’s voice was steady now, his words carefully chosen. “I felt the same way, you know. I just wanted everything to stop too. After you fell. It’s why I flew that plane into the ocean. You were the last thing I was thinking about before it all went dark. I was talking to Peggy, but it was your face in my mind.” He cleared his throat before continuing in an ever-deepening voice. “I couldn’t do it without you, Buck. You fell, and it hurt to breathe again. I was ready to go.” Steve’s eyes closed, but not before tears rushed out of the corners of his eyes. “You’ve always been stronger than me. I know you don’t believe me, Buck, but it’s true.”

“We’re a hell of a pair, Stevie.” It might have been an insensitive or inappropriate thing to say, but the mood couldn’t be dampened further. It at least brought a smile to Steve’s face. “Both of us are so ready to die for the other, it’s like we forgot how to live in the process.”

Steve couldn’t argue with that.


End file.
